And Be Done With It
by Fan of Mikey
Summary: There are a lot of things Eddie Dean doesn’t remember and there are even more things that he thinks he remembers.


**Title:** And Be Done With It  
**Rating:** PG (two swears)  
**Fandom:** The Dark Tower  
**Disclaimer:** All characters, recognizable themes and Roland's dialogue belongs to Stephen King and others. I am in no way earning money or other profit from this fanfic.  
**Char/Pair:** Eddie Dean, OMC, and a special guest appearance by Roland Deschain  
**Prompt:** AU from fivebyfiction on livejournal(dot)com and The house on Street had been abandoned several years ago from thefirstline on livejournal(dot)com  
**Spoilers:** Nup.  
**W/C:** 1206  
**Warnings:** None.  
**Summary:** Okay. So the AU prompt got me thinking about the possible mention of Eddie being in Kingdom Hospital (was it confirmed?) so I decided to do a little piece based on that. Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own. Feedback is love.

The house on Reinhold Street had been abandoned several years ago. Or at least, that's what he thinks anyway, it could have been a hundred years ago or maybe an hour. Time is funny these days. He can't remember who used to live there, though they had to have had money at one point, before they fled, because despite the different levels of disrepair (despair) the house still looks stately, still looks imperial. Looks like its just sitting there, waiting for someone to walk through the large doors and make themselves at home. He thinks there used to be talk of it being haunted, but he can't remember that either.

There are a lot of things Eddie Dean doesn't remember and there are even more things that he _thinks_ he remembers but his mind cuts him off before he can distinguish reality from imaginary. He remembers standing over a patient and shaking like he was freezing, despite the heat, despite the sweat that had broken out over his forehead. He dreams of desert and dust that rises to beat at his ankles, and calloused fingers from clutching something too tightly, something that leaves a sense on his hand that makes him think Sandalwood when he wakes. He remembers blue eyes.

It had been the incident with the patient that had him packing up his life into cardboard boxes and driving out of Kingdom Hospital as fast as he could. He did not need to have a malpractice suit brought against him, it would inevitably lead to an investigation of his wits and how was he supposed to explain that every once in a while he had a craving for heroin, even though he'd never touched the stuff in his life?

It was best to leave, though he didn't know exactly where he was going. That is to say not until he actually got there. It was a week ago when he rolled back into Brooklyn for the first time in almost fifteen years. For the first time since his mother threw everything she owned, including her boys, into the back of her old Buick and drove without stopping until she reached the border of Maine. Only then did she pull over to the side of the road, wailing like a wounded animal.

_An animal with gold-rimmed eyes. _

And fuck if he knew where _that_ came from.

He stands now outside a tiny deli, meats and cheeses strung up in the front window. Low music escaping through the front door, barely heard above the crashing of traffic and e-trains and people yelling. But when he steps inside all outside noise stops and the music is louder, a thin hum underlying it all. Something old, something he can't quite place. Something that sounds like Sinatra but isn't. The man behind the counter smiles at him, nods towards his car and steps closer, probably to get a better look at him in the dim light of the store. 

"Maine, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

The man grins at him, teeth yellow but real. It makes him uneasy, that smile, but everything does these days.

"Cold?"

"Not really this time of year. Soon though. You think I could get something, a sandwich maybe?"

"Of course you can, s'why I'm in business."

Eddie smiles, tells the man what he wants and makes his way to the back of the store to pick up a couple of sodas as he sets to work making his sandwich. He says something as Eddie's back is turned, head in the freezer.

"What was that?"

"I said 'what do you do up there in Maine', if you don't mind my nose?"

"I'm. I was a doctor."

Walking back to the counter, his sandwich finished and wrapped in parchment, the guy nods as he rings him up, grin still in place.

"Shoulda guessed by that fancy car. What do you mean 'was'?"

_Was as in not anymore because I'm going crazy, hey you got any pickles to go with that?_

"Just thought I'd take a bit of a break. Stress, you know?"

The guy chuckles softly, nodding as if he understands the demands of slicing people open and sewing them back up again, handing Eddie his change.

"Sure. You mind that car uh yours. Somethin' like that won't last long 'round here."

"Thankee, sai," he says it before he even realizes it and it doesn't even register until the guy behind the counter looks at him funny. Head cocked to the side like he's trying to figure out a riddle.

"Thankee what? They talk funny like that in Maine all the time, son?"

"It's just. Just something my grandfather used to say, is all," he replied quickly, the lie slipping from his tongue. "Thanks again."

He flees from the tiny store, not even caring how insane he looks as he pushes through the door. Outside he leans against a lamp post gasping for the breath he can't quite catch, déjà vu and nausea fighting for dominance inside him. He fights his way to the car, trying not to both throw up in the middle of the street or get run over by a taxi as he fumbles his way behind the wheel. Thoughts of eating has left his mind for now and probably forever as he jerks the car into drive and pulls out and away from that store and the man with the yellow teeth.

--- 

The house on Reinhold Street had been abandoned several years ago. Or at least, that's what he thinks anyway, it could have been a hundred years ago or maybe an hour. Time is funny these days. The thin humming from the deli hangs in the air, just under the clamor of traffic as it rushes by, only stopping when he pauses to listen. He knows now that this is where he was supposed to go. Though why is still out of reach, hiding beneath the din that buzzes like electric current around him.

He steps off the sidewalk and onto the property of the old house, his feet almost unconsciously bringing him towards the door, almost as if he isn't controlling them. As beautiful as the house was and could be again it looks ominous there, against the fading light of day. And maybe that's how it's supposed to look. Maybe it's supposed to scare people away, to outlast them all. But it doesn't scare Eddie though, instead if fills him with a sense of Right he hasn't felt in a long time, one that he's sure he'd never feel again if he was able to turn and flee this place.

The hum is louder now, and it doesn't stop when he pauses to listen. It isn't a bad sound, a harsh sound. It's comforting. It's almost like. It's almost like people singing, a whole chorus of people singing. But that's crazy isn't it? But that doesn't stop him from reaching for the knob to the door. Doesn't stop him from pushing it open and stepping over the threshold. Doesn't stop him.

"This whole fucking thing is crazy!"

"Come from the shadow of yourself, if you dare. Come now. Come out or shoot me _and have done with it." _

So he does.


End file.
